Some have compared Roman Bondarchuk’s recent debut fiction feature “Volcano” (Ukrainian: Вулкан) to the works of David Lynch, Federico Fellini and Wes Anderson. Certainly there are parallels, but what delights viewers most about “Volcano” is its exquisite cinematography and a pastiche of magical realism that approaches the idiosyncratic fantasy of Jorge Luis Borges.
“Volcano” takes place in the “Wild Fields” (Ukrainian: Дике Поле), a region of Ukraine that is part of the broader Pontic Steppe. The majority of the action is set in the village of Beryslav, about a two-hour’s drive north of Crimea. The viewer follows an OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) translator, Lukas, from Ukraine’s capital city of Kyiv, who is tasked with translating for three international observers inspecting military checkpoints in Crimea. It opens with Lukas’ SUV breaking down on a country road and him going to call for help, leaving the three OSCE observers in the car. When Lukas returns with a local man, Vova, and his daughter, Marushka, both the car and the observers are gone.
Due to several poor decisions thereafter, Lukas finds himself stuck in Beryslav for quite some time. To begin, Lukas never asks Marushka or Vova to call the OSCE, police or news stations to report the situation or request assistance. Then, when the first bus out of Beryslav is sabotaged by teenage hooligans, Lukas goes to an under-age party at a local youth dormitory with Marushka rather than wait for the next bus. Lukas proceeds to lose his jacket at the party, including all his money and documentation. In these instances and more, the viewer begins to wonder whether Lukas even wants to get out of the village, or, perhaps, if a greater force is holding him there.
At first, Beryslav is a conventional borderland town; far from central authority, close to a war zone, almost forgotten. A “no man’s land” in the steppe. The village is neglected in contemporary Ukraine, yet its Soviet past provides no clear nostalgic contrast. The social and legal norms Lukas is used to, having grown up in the capital, are lacking. Tanks roll through from west to east without stopping.
The longer Lukas stays in Beryslav, the clearer a portrait is painted of a topsy-turvy, inside-out world of anarchy. The film becomes a strangely casual indictment of Beryslav and its residents as the filmmaker gradually hints at the complicity of the townspeople in the original disappearance of the SUV and OSCE observers. Lukas glimpses the OSCE van being repainted in a village garage with local police assistance and accuses Vova of being in on the disappearance plot in order to make money off the “big-city” outsiders.
Even more eerie is a scene at the Beryslav Town Hall benefit show for Ukrainian soldiers in which a townswoman sits in the background sporting the extravagant gray pearl necklace worn by an OSCE observer in the film’s opening scenes. As this quick clip passes, the MC of the benefit show can be heard praising the generous, open and good nature of Ukrainian people. The irony is powerful; potential kidnappers – if not murderers – praise their own morality.
Paralleling the gradual revelation of the town’s collusion is Lukas’ initiation into, and growing affinity for, the Beryslav way of life. Though at first Lukas protests the lack of honest work and honest living in the village, he slowly learns to understand and seemingly respect the uncouth necessities of anarchy. Having lost his passport and papers in the dormitory, Lukas is left identity-less. Vova offers Lukas the escape of living out life in Beryslav as someone new, saying many people in the area are undocumented, but still they marry, have children and lead full lives. As time passes, it seems the opportunity to start fresh ensnares Lukas. Lukas’ fate is seemingly sealed when news reports name him a prime suspect in the case of the missing OSCE observers and a potential Russian saboteur in the OSCE’s midst.
Lukas is seduced by the local way of life despite knowing its quite egregious wrongs. He sees firsthand that Beryslav residents are the culprits of the OSCE disappearances. He knows the local police are wildly crooked. He learns from trying to earn honest money by working in the watermelon fields that such “honest” work is impossible in the wild world of the in-between. Here, “honest” work is akin to brutal enslavement; when Lukas tries to escape the horrible manual labor of watermelon picking, he is severely beaten by private security guards and thrown into a deep hole, likely to die. It is only because Vova comes to rescue him that Lukas escapes his punishment pit in the middle of infinite fields of sunflower.
In many ways, Lukas finally managing to replicate Vova’s parlor trick of balancing a spoon on his face emblematizes Lukas’ transition into a local of the “Wild Fields.” Yet, there is the odd counterpoint to Lukas’ assimilation when Vova’s mother pronounces Lukas will never be “one of them” because he comes from the capital, a place of presidents, apartments and, most importantly, laws. Anarchy is simply not in his nature.
Lukas’ seduction into the life of complicity and anarchic (im)morality of the steppe is developed in an incredibly believable manner by Mr. Bondarchuk but, nevertheless, there are moments that provoke some disbelief. For example, Lukas’ monologue on seven-year life cycles, in which one must dedicate everything to a certain goal and then move on, seemed out-of-character and confused. Is the viewer supposed to assume that Lukas’ next goal is starting anew in Beryslav? Or that he has abandoned this philosophy of life cycles and succumbed to the absurdist anarchy of Beryslav? Perhaps Lukas finds some kind of reflection of his own internal conflict in the incongruities of these Ukrainian badlands. Perhaps he has finally found a place he can just be and this makes him willing to stick his head in the sand (or, rather, the steppe) and ignore the complicit immorality of the village.
On the topic of reflections, the idea of a mirror or double is recurrent throughout “Volcano.” This was one of the motifs that most evoked Borges’ writings. Somewhat reminiscent of the watery opening of Alfonso Cuarón’s “Roma,” Mr. Bondarchuk opens “Volcano” with creatively angled aquatic scenes: aerial views of rain patterns on the dark waters of the Dnipro River, the passing of a large and rusty red tanker, a turbid boat wake that calms before viewers’ eyes. In every case, the water reflects and reacts to the world’s whims. In another instance, two Beryslav policemen watch two policemen arrest a suspect on TV. In yet another, the muddled reflection of a “wandering buoy” with a blinking red light looks quite like the titular volcano of the film. Finally, the reflection Lukas seems to see of himself in the village chaos takes on a magical realist twist as the anarchy of the “Wild Fields” grows from lawlessness in the socio-political fabric to lawlessness in the metaphysical, too. Lukas begins seeing a doppelgänger of himself (albeit aged and bearded) around the village, first among the pictures on a Soviet-style “Hall of Fame” board highlighting outstanding Beryslav residents and, later, as a live person on a fishing boat after Vova saves him from a near-drowning accident.
These reflections seem to represent two distinct realities: “what is” and “what ought to be.” Where the water should be disturbed, it goes still. Where policemen should be hard at work securing the public, they are sitting around watching TV. Where there should be a vibrant volcanic eruption, the reality is a silent blinking light. Where there should be an upstanding young man, there is a resigned old fisherman. The “what is” reality is desolation.
Moreover, even if the landscape panorama in the beginning of the film depicts a true volcano (of which Ukraine has none) rather than a kurhan or other landform, it is not an active one. This volcano – whether it represents hope, morality or passion instead of passivity – is dead or dormant. If there’s something bubbling deep below the surface, it’s not evident from the cold, dispassionate exterior. Perhaps the last vestiges of hope for “what ought to be” can be seen in Vova’s “Noah’s Ark,” a boat he believes will save him when the nearby dam on the Dnipro breaks and water floods Beryslav. Or perhaps they are seen in the Statue of Liberty that Vova sports as a tattoo and has painted on his house. Is this a commentary on the thin line between anarchy and liberty, or is it a hint of dormant belief in something better than “Wild Fields” chaos?
Mr. Bondarchuk has stated that the purpose of his art is to raise questions rather than provide answers. “Volcano” certainly succeeds in that regard. One is left wondering: What is the symbolism of the white parachutists at the end of the film? And what does anarchy mean for Ukrainian society? And perhaps most fantastical: What happens when the volcano wakes? When does it wake? And how?